


Same

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Series: Same [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e11 The Magical Place, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Post-Episode: s01e11 The Magical Place, Short, Tahiti is a Magical Place, The Magical Place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:49:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They were just messing with my head - but I appreciate your concern."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Same

**Author's Note:**

> A very short something I made up today. I needed it. :)  
> Not too shippy. Just a little.
> 
> I own only what came out of my own head ;)

They're still just standing there, looking at each other.  
"Back in that room, did they learn anything?"  
"No." Firm voice.  
"... Did you?," she adds. "I heard what you were saying." _Please, let me die._  
His answer is too quick. "It wasn't real."  
Her eyes are filling with tears, but she's very brave, he thinks; not one of them makes its way down her cheeks. It makes his heart ache a little.  
"They were just messing with my head - but I appreciate your concern."  
She almost nods, and he knows he's said too little; she doesn't move, so he eventually gives her a tiny smile, turns around and leaves her standing there.

Of course, he's lying awake that night. Sleep seems to be absolutely out of his reach. He could go and get a sleeping pill, but somehow, he feels he _has_ to allow himself to think this through. It's not as though he hasn't spent even one minute of the past few weeks on figuring this out, but he can't help himself. He feels he can't trust even a single one of his memories. Tomorrow, he's going to surprise the surgeon. He knows it's not going to be any help in disentangling all these federal secrets, but he probably needs the confrontation. His pride needs it. 

Hours later, he's still tossing and turning, his mind restless. Shortly before Dawn, he hears very timid footsteps outside his door, tiptoeing and stopping right in front of it. _Skye_ , it must be Skye. He's holding his breath, probably giving himself away since he's not snoring. At least, he assumes he's snoring occasionally. But then again, how would he know. Nothing happens, and after a moment, the tiptoeing footsteps move away again. He releases all the air he's been holding. She didn't dare to knock. _Well, no one ever dares to._ Melinda would, probably, but the times where she did are long gone. 

He knows it's his own fault - or rather, partially, also his job - that people don't dare to disturb him. To get on his nerves with something. He knows what kind of impression he's making on people. It's calculated, well, at least most of the time. It's his profession to leave exactly that image. And apparently, dying and coming back to life and keeping all of it secret and sacrificing a woman's heart for it also is. He sighs and turns around. They are never going to know he hasn't had any sleep.

The next morning, it's Skye's eyes who speak of a sleepness night. She still looks lovely, as she always does, and the makeup is hiding most of it; she's probably fooling FitzSimmons easily. But he knows.  
"Good morning," he says in his best, most cheerful, and most professional voice. They go over their travel schedule for the next few days and it's all just routine. She smiles occasionally, as he always does, but he notices that she isn't beaming anymore. Today, the shine is gone. He can't help wondering if it's about him. The team are treating him like a raw egg today. And he remembers why he usually avoids telling anyone details about his private life. They shouldn't be worrying about him. Only about themselves. The team as a whole. And the missions.

The following evening, sleep gets him sooner than he could have expected it. It's probably the lack of sleep from the day before, and the exhaustion from the mental spins he's been doing, trying to get his head around what has actually happened to him. That's how that night, he doesn't hear yesterday's shy footsteps approaching, stopping again. He doesn't hear the careful knocking. But Skye hears him. His cries are barely audible, stifled, almost whispered. _Let me die. Please, let me die._ She just opens and closes his door in one motion, sneaking inside as soon as she understands his words. Very carefully, she kneels down next to his bed, trying not to startle him. Her hand is shaking, but she shyly reaches down to cover one of his. 

"Coulson," she whispers.  
He's so far away. _Let me die. Oh, please, let me die. Let me die._ It's a mere whisper.  
She tries again, a little more determinedly. "AC. Agent Coulson."  
Nothing.  
After a moment - but no, she can't watch him like this any longer - she softly places her other hand on his cheek. It takes an effort of will, but -  
"Phil."

Maybe it's her gentle touch that wakes him, maybe it's because even in his sleep, it's too weird that she should call him by his first name. It doesn't matter. He opens his eyes; it's too dark in his room, but he knows it's her even before he sees her.  
"Skye," he rasps, just as he did when she found him. She nods; then it comes to her, _smart girl, he can't see you in the dark_. She swallows. "Yeah."  
He sits up, and she wants to pull back her hands, but he holds one of them by the wrist, very gently taking it into his as soon as she stops pulling away.

She can't really see him, but he must be facing her. She pulls her legs out from under her, they've started hurting. The floor is colder than she's expected it to be. He must be reading her thoughts, because he says,  
"Come up here, you'll catch cold."  
It seems so unlike Coulson, but he's right, _the floor's freezing_ , and, _well_ , he's still holding onto her hand. She guesses where he must be sitting, and with a weird twist - her hand - she manages to sit on his bed, tucking up her legs; he's probably doing the same. Slowly, her eyes are adapting to the darkness, and she's able to make out his shape, next to her. Well, she should probably explain why she's visiting him in the middle of the night.

"You know I don't believe you." _They were just messing with my head._ "I wanted to make sure you were able to sleep - I know you didn't yesterday - and then, I'm sorry, I just heard-"  
"You're right," his calm voice interrupts her. He shifts a little. "It _was_ real. I don't know how they did it. I'll find out. Found the surgeon. But I don't think anybody is really going to be able to explain it to me." She swallows. Interrupting him now would mean making him stop talking. "I ... I can't trust myself anymore. I don't know what's real. It's all inside my head, and it feels like I can't tell memories from artificial images anymore. When I ... When I was inside that machine, I sort of wanted to know everything. But it was worse than everything I'd anticipated. I didn't expect to - to -"  
She feels it's her turn. "I'm so sorry you had to relive it." She squeezes his hand a little, just for a split-second. He seems to need a moment of consideration, but he does squeeze back, equally briefly. She almost smiles; it's dark anyway, he can't see her. That means he can't see her shiny eyes, either. _Good._

"And _I_ trust you. We all trust you. We need you, too. You should have seen Ward, by the way. Defending you like a mama bear would her cub. And May, playing Hand so well that even I thought she was throwing me off the bus. And, well, you know FitzSimmons... We all trust you, and yeah, we love you. Sorry if this is getting cheesy, but it's the truth, AC. No matter what happened to you, we're here for you. We're real. This is real. Everything that came after ... after Tahiti is real. And everything before that."  
She has to breathe, but before she can speak again, he lets go of her hand - it scares her a little - and murmurs,  
"Thank you, Skye. I appreciate it," but the voice doesn't sound like his. It's raspy and forced. She knows he's looking away.

_Agent Coulson,_ she wants to say, and even though it makes her blush - _damnit, it's dark, right?_ -, she remembers before and says, her voice trembling just a little,  
"Phil."  
It makes him stop breathing; she hears it. It takes her a moment, but she continues, "Phil. I know you wanted to die. I know that somehow, they made you forget about that, they made you want to go on being the best S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in all of history, and I don't care how they did it, you'll find out about it anyway. But that's not what matters. What matters is that you're still _you_. Nothing's missing. They're telling me you have a truckload of scars about here-", she's taking a risk and letting her palm rest on his chest where she suspects the blade pierced him, "but this is still _you_. Maybe what they did was wrong. It certainly must've been the daftest thing done by humanity. Heck, it's resurrection. I've only caught a glimpse of how much you've had to suffer. But yeah, I'm fucking glad you're here. Truth is, I don't know what I'd be doing without you."  
The trembling in her voice is all gone. She's blushing again, but _yeah, it's still dark._

Her hand is still on his chest; she knows it's probably been there a little too long, but now she doesn't dare to remove it anymore. It has been getting just the faintest bit less dark, and now that he turns his head, looking straight at her, she sees him.  
Very slowly, he covers the hand on his chest with one of his, and they rest against his flannel pyjama jacket. She lets his fingers interlock with hers. Still holding her gaze, he says only one word.  
"Same."  
Smiling. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!  
> Please let me know what you think :) ... it's my first S.H.I.E.L.D. fic.
> 
>  
> 
> (edit: I wrote another Coulson/Skye fic, starting off from the episode 'T.R.A.C.K.S.'. It's called 'Mirror' and can be read as a second part to this fic, but doesn't have to.) :)


End file.
